Not This Again!
by MithLuin
Summary: Manga ch80 AU. Damsel in distress! Needlessly elaborate - but vaguely kinky - torture by archvillains! Daring escape! Bizarre illness and long-term recuperation! Alchemy-as-medicine! Vampirism? The story takes itself seriously, but you don’t have to.
1. Killer's Eyes

Killer's Eyes

Colonel Roy Mustang left the meeting, blinking hard several times. Not only was it difficult to stay awake and pretend to be perfectly alert as people droned on and _on_, he really wondered how the higher-ups ever got anything done when they just seemed to go to meetings all day. Maybe he still needed to adjust to the culture here in Central. Not that he wanted to become just like them in their corruption. It was a fine line, to work the system, without becoming part of it. In the East, when something needed to be done, you did it. You didn't need to jump through so many hoops. But perhaps that was just because Grumman was so different from the Generals here. He smiled to himself; that man had never been the least bit concerned what anyone thought of him.

Whereas here…well, he needed to learn to watch his back. Speaking of which, where was Hawkeye when he needed her? He had to get used to these new people in his office. It was disconcerting. He walked in, set them at ease, and returned to his desk. Ah, fortunately he hadn't left anything incriminating out. He got to work; the ability to think about one thing while doing something else served him well now. Before too long, the second lieutenant he'd sent out before the meeting returned. "Here are the files you requested, sir."

He thanked her and leafed through them. He wondered how Hawkeye had always been able to get her hands on the things he needed so promptly. It was good to have such tenacious, skilled help; it had spoiled him. He clenched a fist. He wasn't going to think about Hughes right now. He'd just get angry. He went back to reading the files, trying to concentrate on them for once. He had to get this meaningless busywork out of the way so….

There was a knock on the door, and he glanced up.

"Ah, Fullmetal, what a pleasant surprise. I heard you were back in town, but not haunting the library this time. I expected I'd have to track you down myself, but I see you've –"

He looked up, and stopped talking abruptly. He stopped thinking. He probably even forgot to breathe.

"What are you looking at?" the blond alchemist snarled.

Mustang clicked his jaw shut. "Sit down," he managed to get out. He could not help but…stare.

"Do I have something on my face?" the boy sulked. No, not a boy anymore…

"Your eyes," Mustang said, not trusting himself to say any more. He'd seen eyes like that before. Hell, he saw eyes like that whenever he looked in a mirror. Almost all the soldiers who came back from Ishbal had them. Killer's eyes. And now Edward Elric had them. "What…happened?"

"Kimbley," Ed said shortly, not going into details. "The State was making a big deal about keeping track of me, so I figured I'd come in and play their game for awhile."

"And Al?"

"He's…not with me." Ed looked out the window, not meeting Mustang's eyes. So. The boy had managed to get his brother into hiding. Not bad. "Last I saw, he was chasing Scar. Who had Winry."

That…was an interesting development. "They are running out of hostages for you," the Colonel murmured quietly.

"That was the idea. Now I can thumb my nose at them whenever I want."

"What do you want from me?"

"Information, what else?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"I just did. Xing's alchemy. It's different from ours. I need to know how."

"There's another of those things."

"Where? Up north? Or here?"

Mustang ignored the question, or seemed to. "So you want me to point you in the direction of someone who's studied the alchemy they use in Xing?"

Ed nodded.

Mustang sighed. "I don't know why you think I'd know anything."

"Because you're usually a step ahead of me, at least when it comes to things you can't learn in a library."

"Not anymore. I don't suppose you'll be staying in Central long?"

Ed shook his head.

"Then take care of yourself, kid."

Mustang stood up, and they shook hands.

Ed looked at him puzzled, then turned in the doorway. "Don't die on me, Colonel. I don't want to have to come back for a funeral, especially not yours."

"I won't, Edward. I still want that money back."

Once he left, Mustang sat down heavily and let his head hit the desk, files forgotten. He'd been at this too long. He was supposed to be protecting the Elrics, shielding them from that side of the military. Edward wasn't supposed to grow up to be a killer. He was supposed to…

What? Stay a kid forever? Somehow survive missions without harming himself or anyone else? How naïve did he have to be to think that this wouldn't happen? Still, he hadn't been ready for it. To see those golden eyes as hard as his, and Hughes', and Hawkeye's…it was too much. For a moment, he wished he'd killed Kimbley in Ishbal, when he'd had the chance. Dammit, the kid was only 16! He'd need a drink tonight. More than one. He looked at the clock. It was going to be a long day…but he'd have to remember to ask Armstrong about a homunculus in the North. Ed had told him that much. He should have asked more questions…

* * *

Ed walked out of Mustang's office confused. What had happened back there? He'd never seen that man speechless before, but shocked was the only way to describe the look on his face. Had he really changed that much? He knew if Al were around, he'd tell him to eat more, but he didn't look _that_ bad. He supposed there must be something wrong with his eyes. Ever since…that…happened, he'd been avoiding mirrors. He shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders, looking down. He'd known it would happen eventually. When you sign up to be a human weapon, that means…eventually, you're going to kill people. He was prepared for that, right? His teacher had taught them, if you have to kill animals to eat, that's okay, just part of the flow. But killing people was…different. Much different.

He unrolled the paper that Mustang had given him when they shook hands. It had only two things written on it:

_Selim Bradley_

_Havoc's doctor_

So it looked like his next stop would be Havoc's hometown, out in the East.

* * *

_Author's Note: _In the anime, Ed kills Greed intentionally, and is involved in a few other unintentional deaths. He reflects on crossing that line. But in the manga, he has merely witnessed people being killed, never killed himself. I wondered what would happen if he _were_ to cross that line. This story will be rendered AU by the next chapter, I'm sure.


	2. A New Duty

A New Duty

She got ready that morning as she always had. Same routine, same uniform. She fed Black Hayate. "See you tonight, boy. Behave yourself." Riza closed the door, and took a deep breath. Now came the part that was different. She was going into the belly of the beast, so that Military Command could keep a tighter chain on Colonel Roy Mustang. She would be watched, closely. She felt for the pistol, making sure it was where it had always been, on her belt. But that was not what irked her. Her duty was not given to her by the military. Her father had given it to her first. When she was a little girl, he had taught her to always do the right thing, to make the world a happier place for everyone who lived in it. He was gone now, and his vision of a happier world had crumbled when her mother had died. She tried to carry it on for him, but she thought it had perished with the loss of her youthful idealism in Ishbal. But she would not give up, and after the war, the dream had been reborn. She had no right to happiness, but she could win it for the people of Amestris. Maybe. If the colonel did not falter. _That _was her duty now. To watch his back. To protect him, so he could achieve their goal. And that is what the Führer would not let her do! Was this punishment meant for him or for her? Or both of them? She would do her best to make them regret it.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, reporting for duty." She saluted the man who had looked so smug when she was given her relocation papers. Nothing showed on her face – neither eagerness nor submission. She would remain cool and professional, no matter what. Storch showed her her duties as personal secretary to the President. She listened carefully. She would not disgrace the colonel by making any foolish mistakes. Her quality reflected on his judgement, after all. She was given many pitying looks as she moved about the building. Either Storch was universally loathed, or a great many people knew the reason why she was here. Interesting.

That afternoon, she officially met the president. He called her in, and explained what was expected of her. She showed no surprise when the conversation shifted to more personal matters.

"Dogs are such loyal creatures, don't you find?" Bradley remarked.

"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully.

"And so it is always a risk to take in another man's dog. You never know when it will run back to him."

"If trained properly, sir, the dog should be loyal to its new master." She met his eyes steadily while speaking. So, they thought of her as the colonel's pet? Fools!

His smile let her know that she had given too much away. No need to get angry here. Watch. And listen.

"I am told your marksmanship is excellent for a woman of your age."

"Thank you, sir." The obedient underling does not volunteer information. When the colonel had taken her on, he had asked why – why guns? The president did not ask. Interesting. He thought he already knew all about her? That would make this much easier. Unless, of course…he did.

"I do not need my secretary to act as my bodyguard, so you may leave your gun at your desk during the day. No need for you to carry it here." He smiled, knowing how discomfited she must be feeling.

"Yes, sir," she said, as steadily as possible. She knew her face was white. She had not gone unarmed outside her home since Ishbal. She would find some way to make this work. Her eyes went to the swords on his wall despairingly.

He chuckled. "You needn't worry, my dear. You are perfectly safe here."

"Yes, sir. Of course." She smiled, a bit strained. She was relieved when he dismissed her.

She went to her desk and slowly unstrapped her holster. She put it in the top drawer, and sat down. This was, without a doubt, the most difficult task she had ever faced. Colonel Mustang had best appreciate her efforts! She began sorting through folders, making a stack to be filed later. She considered her options. If she stayed at her desk, she would have her gun within reach at all times. That was a comforting thought, but impractical. Other soldiers carried their guns here – she could always take one from someone if she needed to. The only time she would be vulnerable – _really_ vulnerable – would be when she was alone with the president. He was never without his sword, and she knew his reputation. If he wanted her dead…she would be. But then again…would a gun change that? He was a homunculus. She had seen firsthand how useless she was against such a foe, even when fully armed. It would take an alchemist to defeat the Führer – maybe more than one. She took a deep breath. Better the truth than the illusion of control. When she was in the presence of the president, her life was in his hands.

At that moment, she resolved not to tell the colonel of any punishments she received for his sake. The only one that mattered was the one she could not hide – her death. If the president went that far, he would lose his hostage, and the colonel would be free to act… though knowing him, he would still act rashly. She sighed. What an exasperating man he could be! And yet… She looked around this new office. How she would miss him, all the same.

* * *

Lt. Hawkeye was glad she had always been a quiet woman. She was not tempted into idle chit-chat with anyone in her new surroundings. She was efficient, professional…and silent, confining her responses to "Yes, sir," or "No, sir." She listened, though. While she sat silently at her desk, she overheard many conversations. Most were idle or mundane. But slowly she gained an understanding of how things worked here – who ran what, who was friendly with whom. When she went home at night, she recorded it into a journal, giving everyone code names. It was actually kind of fun.

She only saw the president when she had a message to deliver to him or if he called her into his office. She expected him to try to get past her silence, to tempt her to speak. But while she would respond to any direct question, she was careful never to say anything, no matter how innocuous, about Colonel Mustang. So the first time he came up was when she was waiting to deliver a phone message to President Bradley. He was just concluding some business, and she was waiting patiently inside the door.

"Not at all like Colonel Mustang," the president said, and his guest laughed. She did not flinch, but her stillness revealed how intently she was listening.

"No, not like him at all," the man agreed. "That one has guts, real guts, from what I've heard." She noted his uniform; a lieutenant general. Probably the same age as the president, she'd guess. She had not met him before, but his name was on the schedule for today – Graham. "It's disgraceful how many soldiers in our military are timid as field mice. It comes from not having seen action. These youngsters…"

"Like my secretary here?" Bradley gestured towards her, including her in the conversation.

"You were too young for Ishbal, weren't you, miss?" the general said condescendingly, an obsequious backpedaler for all his bluster about bravery.

"I was only a cadet at the time, but I was sent to the front," she answered quietly, keeping her head bowed.

"Ah, but now you just push paper and answer phones," he dismissed her. "We need more men of vision, men of action in our military."

He droned on for a bit more, clearly enjoying hearing his own voice. Finally, Bradley dismissed him, then turned to face her. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Phone message for you, sir." She handed him a slip of paper with the message written on it. "Reply requested immediately."

He glanced at it. "Tell them reinforcements are on the way. I dispatched the orders this morning."

"Yes, sir." She bowed and turned to leave.

"And Lieutenant? There is no need to be so shy."

"Yes, sir." He had noticed her reticence, but it would take more than that to coax speech from her. She returned to her work, returning his phone call, and checking his schedule for the next day to see if another meeting could be squeezed in. She comforted herself with the thought that when the colonel became Führer, she would know how all of this worked.

Over the next several weeks, she learned to speak more openly around him, while still studiously avoiding the topic of Mustang. The problem was…he was a very astute listener, with a keen sense of what people truly thought. It was hard to know what would be useful to him later…and would thus hurt those she was truly loyal to. She consoled herself with the fact that she also was gleaning information. Perhaps one day, he would reveal something to her in all his ramblings that would betray his own thoughts and plans.

Mostly, though, he was as tight-lipped about the important things as she was. Her only advantage was his arrogance – it made him more likely to slip up, she hoped.

She had finally gotten used to a routine, adjusting to her new responsibilities and living in a state of constant vigilance as if she were on the front. And then he went and changed everything.

"Lieutenant, clear my schedule for next week."

"Yes, sir. Will the Chairman of the Council be handling your responsibilities?"

"No, I'll be appointing a temporary stand-in. Inform General Lockheed's secretary that he will be taking my essential appointments. The Council will hear everyone else."

"Yes, sir." She turned to leave.

"Aren't you going to ask me where I'm going?"

"I thought you would tell me if you intended me to know."

"True. But since you're coming with me, I thought you might be just a little bit curious."

"Sir?"

"We're going to South Headquarters. They have such lovely weather this time of year. And the melons are in season."

"I see, sir. I will clear off your schedule right away. When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning's train should be early enough. I've already arranged it, and a car will be waiting at the station."

She frowned, but bowed and left. He'd planned this out in advance, and waited until the last minute to inform her. That suspicion was confirmed when General Lockheed's secretary seemed very unperturbed by the sudden influx of appointments. Even though she was officially the President's secretary, he was careful to screen what information she was privy to. She just did not realize he could slip something this major by her. The nuisance now would be thinking of a way to inform Colonel Mustang without letting it be known she was informing him. Calling from home or work was out of the question – with the surveillance she was under, the lines were sure to be tapped. Arranging to meet him was too difficult; she would be tailed when she left work. For that reason, using a public phone was also questionable.

And there was no way she could wait until dark.

* * *

She left at the end of her shift, and walked home as she always did. She did not deviate in any way from her typical schedule. Luckily, walking her dog was not out of the ordinary. She changed into civilian clothes and took Black Hayate to the park, where she scouted out a suitable messenger.

_Boy or girl?_ she mused. The colonel would be more likely to notice a girl…but also less likely to hear the message. For some reason, his brain switched off around pretty girls, or seemed to, anyway. She wasn't sure that applied to young girls, but she'd heard the man flatter Winry and even Elysia in the same voice he used on young women closer to his age. Better not to risk it. So, a boy it was. No one younger than ten; she couldn't afford the kid forgetting or chickening out. She saw a group of boys that looked to be about twelve over by the swing sets, and let Hayate do the work.

The boys saw the dog, and one came over to pet him. "What's his name?" he asked.

"Hayate," she answered, sizing up the young man. His face was open, nothing dishonest or secretive about him. His hair was messy, but his clothes were washed and neat enough. He'd do. "What's your name?"

"Timothy," he said.

"Can I ask a favor of you, Timothy?" He looked at her curiously, but neither refused nor volunteered. "I'd like you to give a message to one of the men who work in Central Headquarters. Do you think you can do that?"

"Sure, my dad works there," he said easily. "What floor?"

"If you could catch this man when he comes out, that would be better. He's a colonel, and he has black hair. But more importantly, he has red marks on his gloves."

"Oh, you mean the Flame Alchemist! Yeah, I know who he is."

"Please tell him, 'The bird has flown south.'" Yes, it was stupid, but he'd get the point. She hoped.

"'The bird has flown south,'" Timothy repeated. "Cool, I'll get to meet the Flame Alchemist!"

"Remember, just stand outside and wait for him to come out. Don't go looking for him."

"Sure, no problem," he said easily, but he was looking at her expectantly.

"Does 50 cenz for your troubles sound reasonable?" she asked, and he nodded happily.

"Who should I say the message is from, though?" he asked her.

She smiled, "Tell him it's from Hayate."

He grinned at that. "Got it. Flame Alchemist, outside Headquarters, 'The bird has flown south.'"

"Please don't say anything to anyone else," she said, handing him the money. It would be better to pay him after, so she'd know the message was delivered, but she couldn't risk anyone seeing him meet up with her again. Especially not tonight! He seemed trustworthy, and on short notice like this, it was the best she could do. She didn't want to risk exposing anyone else. They expected her to run.

Timothy took the money, scratched Black Hayate, and ran back to his friends. She continued on her walk, glad that he hadn't left the park as soon as they'd finished talking. If his dad worked at Headquarters, it might not be too unusual for him to be seen hanging around the front of the building.

She went home, hoping this trip wasn't as bad as she was dreading. She spoke with the doorman on her way in, informing him that she'd be gone for a week, and not to be surprised if he saw someone else walking her dog. She hoped Roy would send someone to check on her, and end up questioning the man. Then she called a friend from the lobby, and arranged to have the dog watched for the week. She was half-tempted to take Black Hayate with her, but she did not want her dog and the Führer to meet. Ever.

* * *

_Author's Notes_: Most of this chapter was actually written before 'Killer's Eyes,' back in December 2007, and therefore takes a step back in time to set up the rest of what's going on here. But at the end of this chapter, we are caught up to the current time. Ed and Roy will be back next time.

When I wrote the first chapter, I had no idea where this was going. Now, I have some idea of what I want to do with this. It is going to be an AU, running about at the current point of the manga. It will contain many, many fanfic cliches...so at the end, you will all be very glad the esteemed Arakawa does not read fanfic! (Actually, I don't know if she does or not.) But despite the slight tongue-in-cheek attitude of the author towards some of the over-the-top plot devices, this is a serious story. Enjoy!


	3. Making Arrangements

_Chapter 3: Making Arrangements_

Timothy sat on the high wall overlooking the square outside the steps to Headquarters. The lady had said not to go inside, so it was best to just wait. He flipped the coin she'd given him, keeping track of how many times it came up lion's head. He shifted his seat restlessly. He hated just hanging around waiting. But an excuse to meet the Flame Colonel was tough to pass up. The man always looked so intently purposeful and unapproachable the few times he'd seen the war hero. He pondered his message – it was obviously some sort of secret code, but he couldn't guess what it might mean. There was a battle going on with Aerugo, he'd heard, so maybe someone had secretly been sent south to help out? Sounded plausible.

Regardless, he'd need a plan to make it look really casual and nonchalant. Like a spy from the movies or something. He had his 'prop' sitting next to him, and all he needed was to figure out what he'd say.

He looked up and started when he saw the man he was waiting for walking down the stairs with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. Timothy hopped down off the wall and ran across the square. He caught up with Colonel Mustang before the man could walk towards the waiting car.

"Uh…buy my last paper?" he asked, holding up the newspaper he'd picked up in the park as evidence that he really was a paperboy, even if he probably didn't look like one.

The colonel narrowed his eyes suspiciously when the young boy ran up in front of him, throwing Timothy off guard.

"Sir! I have…" Usually the officers he spoke to were friends of his dad's. None of them were this intimidating. "Hayate said to tell you, 'The bird has flown south,' sir."

The reaction was immediate. His eyes snapped open and he looked at the boy intensely. "When?" he asked, half taking a step forward, then glancing around to see who could overhear this conversation.

"She told me this afternoon, sir. About 4:30."

Colonel Mustang thought that over quickly and reached a decision. He dug a few cens out of his pocket. "Thanks, kid," he muttered, handing it over and looking Timothy in the eye as he took the newspaper. "Please keep that to yourself." Then he turned abruptly and went back up the stairs.

Timothy was a bit disappointed, but figured it must've been important news to have him react like that. An uneasy thought crossed his mind. What if…what if that lady were some sort of spy for Aerugo? But then he thought better of it. Colonel Mustang was a war hero! And his dad said he did a lot to keep Central safe. Someone like that wouldn't betray the country. With a bounce in his step, he turned and headed for home, jingling the coins in his pocket.

Roy was having a much less pleasant evening. He hurried back to his office and made some excuse about having forgotten a case file that he needed to review before the next day. His subordinates reported directly to a General in Military Command now (or to the Führer himself, in one case). He hoped one of them would pass this on, so no one would hunt down the boy. It had not been wise to react so obviously, but at the time his one thought was of getting the information he needed to take care of Hawkeye. Damn her! He didn't want to deal with this today. Or ever. But couldn't she have given him more warning? Using such an unorthodox method of communicating with him suggested great urgency. He had to figure out when she was leaving. And he needed backup. As much as he'd like to take on the Fuhrer himself…he wasn't up to it. Not on his terms, anyway. He'd need some tricks up his sleeve. So the little black book was _definitely_ coming home with him tonight. His subordinates were unaware of its true purpose, and he was fine with keeping it that way. He made a point of opening it up before calling girls from work. He glanced at the clock. How long had it been since Fullmetal walked out this morning? There may still be time to catch him if…damn. The trains would be gone. He left the office, newspaper still under his arm, bidding a hasty farewell to the few people who were left. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at his reflection in a window as he passed. He tried not to wince. He'd looked better. But it seemed as though he wouldn't be getting that drink tonight after all. If bad news came in three's, he _really_ didn't want to know what the next one would be. He'd had more than enough bad news for one day thus far.

* * *

Ed got off the train wearily. He was sick of traveling. Or maybe it was just that traveling alone was so miserable. He hoped Al was alright. He checked into the local military hotel, and was not overly surprised when the receptionist did a double-take.

"Edward Elric? The Fullmetal Alchemist?" Ed just nodded. He was used to this routine, though it was nice to skip the part where they mistook Al for him. He was not expecting the rest, though. ""There's a phone message for you, sir."

Ed blinked at him. "What?"

"A phone message. You're to call this number back," he said, handing him a slip of paper.

Ed took it, bemused. The only way someone would know where he was would be if that person had watched him buy his ticket at the train station in Central. But as he picked up the phone, he realized there was someone else who knew he'd come out East.

"Mustang here."

"Hey, Colonel."

"Fullmetal, I need you for backup. Meet me in South City."

"What! I just got here. I haven't even…"

"I know. Something came up."

"Since yesterday?" Ed was more alarmed than amused. What could be going on that would make the usually imperturbable Mustang scramble? Uneasily, he considered the possibilities. "Did…did someone die?" he asked.

"Not yet. But I need you in South City. There's a train out in the morning."

"Yeah, I know, but…"

"Make sure you're on it. Meet me at the park next to Headquarters as soon as you get in." Ed remembered the park from his trip to South Headquarters for his last assessment. "See you -" Mustang said, hanging up. Ed could tell he bit off the last word, and figured it was probably _kid._

He slammed down the receiver, sputtering. Just who did Mustang think he was, ordering him about like that? He had important stuff to do, and didn't have the time to be mucking about at South Headquarters. Any day now, the homunculi might…. The blood drained from his face. '_I need you for backup.'_ What could be so terrible that Mustang couldn't handle himself? Ed finally realized that the colonel was asking him for help. Mustang had _never_ asked him to set aside his own goals before. He tried to remember what the other man had said when they met the day before. What if…what if the homunculi were making their move? His hostages were safely in hiding, but Mustang's subordinates were all still in the military. All except Havoc. So Ed knew what probably had him all riled up now. The Führer was making good on his threat. No one had died _yet._ Ed looked at the clock in the hotel lobby. The train south didn't leave until the morning. He still had time to do what he came here for. It was time to pay Havoc a visit. He hoped the ex-military man was still awake.

_Author's Notes: _So, this one continues. I have a pretty good idea where this is headed and some more of it written, but I have other stories I'm supposed to be updating as well. So, we'll see how this goes. For now, enjoy chapter three.


	4. Captive Audience

_Captive Audience_

"Stand still, First Lieutenant."

Her superior had noticed her movement towards the door. He didn't miss much. She forced herself to remain still, not turning her head to look towards him.

"Very good. I always knew you were an obedient soldier."

Führer President King Bradley circled in front of her, and she saw his hand on the hilt of his ever-present sword. She swallowed. They would not kill her now. She was more valuable alive. But if she were wrong…she would face her death with open eyes.

"What did he do now, sir?" she asked in a long-suffering voice. She missed her guns, but of course she was not allowed to be armed in the Führer's presence. Not that they would help her much against such a foe, anyway. She'd learned the hard way that pumping a homunculus full of bullets did little to slow them down.

"We have other ways of getting his attention if he is too bold," he said, confirming her suspicions. She would not be receiving his punishment today. But then what…? She heard the sword being drawn. There was no way she could avoid death at the hands of this homunculus.

But that didn't stop her from trying. When the blade came down, she dropped to the floor, so that her head would not be there to meet the cold steel. Bradley's reflexes were inhumanly fast, though, so before he even completed the swing, he adjusted, and with a resounding _crack_ hit her in the back of the head with his sword hilt. She hadn't had a chance to roll away_._

"That should take care of you for awhile," he told the crumpled woman. She did not respond, for she had not heard him.

* * *

_Where the hell was he?_

Roy Mustang sat on a bench in the park and did his level best to look relaxed and indolent. He resisted the urge to get up and pace, to pull out his pocket watch and check the time every three minutes. Fullmetal was late. The train had arrived on time; he made sure he knew _that_ much before he sat here and made a fool of himself. So where was he?

It was possible he'd decided not to come. That he'd blown off Mustang in favor of learning something he needed to from Havoc's doctor. Roy didn't like to admit it, but not every one of his underlings owed him unquestioning loyalty, and Fullmetal was just young and immature enough to misunderstand the seriousness….

No, he wasn't young any longer. He remembered his eyes and thought, _That boy knows exactly what I was asking of him._

So why wasn't he here, as requested?

And why was Mustang sitting on a bench doing nothing while his lieutenant was in danger?

* * *

When Riza Hawkeye awoke, she was surprised to find herself…standing. Her hands were secured above her head, but her weight was not resting on her shoulders. Rather, her entire torso was supported by…fabric. She was swathed from armpit to hip in yards and yards of silk. She could not tell if it were many pieces or just one looped back and forth around her. It was all the same color, a dark orange that reminded her of flowers in the fall. It stretched out away from her body in giant rays of silk. The fabric was attached to hooks and pulleys above her head and off to the sides, obscuring her view of much of the room. She could not guess the purpose of such an elaborate prison, but she had to admit it would take some time to free herself, even if her hands were not bound in thick ropes. The cocoon was not uncomfortable, just snug. Her splitting headache, on the other hand…._Damn Bradley,_ she thought. She knew when he had insisted that she accompany him on this trip to the South that nothing good would come of it. _I was being compliant; why did he have to hit me?_ The obvious explanation was that he did not want her to know where, precisely, she was. If she had no memory of the journey, she could not reveal this location to outsiders. And if he was concerned about _that_, then she could expect to live through this. Somehow. It was somewhat encouraging. Testing her mobility, she moved her feet – or tried to. She did not hear the _clink_ of chains, but could take only one step in any direction. It doing so, however, she confirmed her suspicion that it was many pieces of fabric, because each seemed to pull in a separate direction. It was a bit like being caught in a giant spider's web, and she found that image unsettling, to say the least.

"Ah, so you are awake, good! Wrath said we'd have a guest soon, so I thought I'd check in on you." He was not who she was expecting. Ling Yao, wanna-be emperor of Xing, stood in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"Eh? You know who I am?"

"Ling Yao. We met not that long ago. But how -?"

"Oh, I see. That other guy must've been pretty popular. You all seem to know him! I'm Greed, though." He flashed the back of his hand at her for emphasis.

She started, and automatically took a step back, before her narrow cage caught her. "Did you put me in this?" she asked. If she could find out more about it, she might be able to figure out a way to get out. As things were now, she couldn't even see her feet.

"No, I wouldn't do something like that to a woman. Well, not under these circumstances, anyway," he revised his statement. "A waste of perfectly good silk."

"I agree. There's seems to be enough here to curtain a room," Riza said. She knew she should keep him talking.

"Ah, that's why we can afford to waste it, then. No windows here." So they were underground. She'd thought as much – something about the air seemed…contained.

"You wouldn't happen to have any water, would you?" she asked. She doubted it would help her headache, but her mouth was parched and it was hard to think.

"What would you give me for it?" he asked.

"I'm not in a position to offer you anything," she said firmly.

"How about a kiss?"

"What would Lan Fan say to that, young prince?"

"I'm not him," he insisted, but he stopped teasing. He also made no move to fetch her any water. She stifled a sigh and went back to studying her surroundings. With both her feet and hands secured, there did not seem to be any way out of her bonds except cutting them. And nothing was within reach – no conveniently placed sharp metal edges. The edges of the room were in darkness, but most of the space seemed cluttered. It was only her immediate surroundings that had been cleared.

The door behind her opened, and she had to twist around to see who had entered.

"Do you have her ready yet?" the Führer's voice said expectantly.

"You do it," Greed said carelessly. "I don't hurt women."

"Very well," Wrath said with a frown. "Though we are running short of pawns down here."

_Then you will have to move yourself,_ Riza thought. She did not share her thoughts, though. She was not one to speak carelessly, especially not in front of an enemy.

The Führer walked over to a handle extending from the floor, and pulled it towards himself easily. A large gear turned slowly, and she could hear the teeth clicking into place. One, two , three. With each turn, the pulleys above her were hefted a little higher. And the bands across her body pulled tighter…and tighter. Suddenly, she understood what they were doing. She was not being contained; she was being silenced.

Finished, the Führer walked over to observe the effects. "Comfortable, my dear?" he asked solicitously.

"Thirsty," Riza got out in a gasp. She was afraid that as she spoke, she would not be able to replace the air. Her ribcage was straining against the bonds, and her lungs were protesting their confinement. It might not be fatal yet, but she'd seen the gear now, and knew it could be tightened still further. Silk stretched a little bit, she thought, but not indefinitely. A pull of that lever could kill her, she had no doubt.

The Führer frowned. "One more notch, I think. You are slimmer than the last one."

She grit her teeth, but bore it in silence. It was merely uncomfortable, not painful, at the moment, but she had to fight a rising panic at being so effectively _trapped._ Wrath left the room, but Greed stayed with her.

* * *

Wrath returned not too much later. "This way, please, Colonel," he said, and she knew why she was here. She was being used to personally assure his obedience. Which meant that…they were going to ask him to do something that he should never do. It was her duty to do everything in her power to prevent him from giving in. Knowing the situation and having a purpose helped to calm her mind. She took short, shallow breaths and stayed focused.

She _felt_ him enter the room. It was strange, but after so many years of looking out for him without looking _at_ him, she had developed some other sense that always let her know where he was in a room. She supposed it was that the sound of his footfalls was distinct, but it was reflexive. At the moment, she found it easier than breathing.

And so she knew the exact moment when he spotted her, and realized her predicament. Two beats of her heart later, he spoke. "Release her, Bradley. This is between you and I."

"I think she'll stay where she is for now," he said amicably, but with that undercurrent of steel that let you know he was a man to be reckoned with. They were both within the line of her vision now. The Führer's practiced ease had the grace of a hunting cat. Riza let her eyes meet the colonel's, so he could see that she was still alive and alert. She knew she would see his anguish, which he needed to hide, but there was little she could do.

Still, she did not speak. She wanted to wait for the opportune moment, because she knew that once she spoke to him, they would silence her. She would only get one chance, so she must not waste it. She knew he was analyzing her elaborate cage, trying to see the best way to spring her from it. She wondered if he had his gloves…or if he could dare to use them when the homunculus with lightning reflexes stood by with a sword.

Roy Mustang had defeated Lust. Nothing was impossible for him. She clung to that thought, and listened to the men.

"It's simple, Mustang. You're an alchemist; you activate the array," Greed explained nonchalantly. He gestured at the large array on the floor, and suddenly Riza understood why she was in the midst of a cleared area. They weren't worried about her escaping. They didn't want anything to interfere with their precious alchemy.

"What does it do?" the colonel asked, as if it were a simple proposition.

"Who cares?" said Greed. "If you don't, we kill her."

"I do not think you understand the first lieutenant," he answered, but he directed that statement at the Führer. "You'll have to tell me what it does first."

"You know perfectly well. You've seen this before."

He studied what he could see of it, but his face gave nothing away, not even to Riza who had known him for so long. If he had seen the array in the past, she could see no flicker of recognition from him.

"Come now, I thought you were the ones who discovered the Elric boys. Surely you saw the circle they drew? And you've been to our labs. Or were you distracted at the time?"

"Why should I activate an array like that? I would have to pay a terrible price."

"Of course. That's why we've given you an added incentive, human sacrifice." Wrath walked over towards the lever, and Riza realized her time was up.

"I will kill you if you obey them," she said abruptly, looking straight into his eyes. "Do not compromise…" she gasped out, "…to save me."

Bradley threw the lever, and the gear turned two notches.

Riza gasped as the silken bonds tightened, forcing out her last breath. "Save…the country," she said, and then her mouth was opening and closing in a desperate attempt to find air. But it would not come. Her ribcage was trapped closed, and it would not expand no matter how she tried. The panic she'd been holding at bay since she first understood the Führer's intentions slammed into her. This was it. She was going to asphyxiate in this windowless underground room, like a prisoner in some barbaric dungeon, while the man who meant everything to her was forced to watch.

Or not. Roy Mustang was not the sort of man who could passively watch something like that. He looked hard at Bradley, his fists clenched at his sides, and a frown deeply set on his face. "This is not necessary."

"But it is," he answered "Once her soul flees, there will be only one way to get her back," Wrath said dispassionately.

"Bastard," he spat. "Let her live, and I'll activate your array." He walked over and grabbed one of the pieces of silk, staring at her helplessly.

Her eyes flew open, but not in protest to his words. She knew he was lying, because he did not speak like a broken man. No, she was surprised, because as soon as he touched the silk, the air in her trapped lungs did not feel so useless. Somehow, there was still oxygen available to her demanding pulse, even though she could not take another breath. Her eyes sought out his, but he was ignoring her. So she looked at his hand, and realized it was the one with the old scar that was gripping the silk futilely. The man could act, she would give him that.

"I think not," she heard. "She'll assure your compliance much better in this position." It was everything she could do not to waste her precious reserve of oxygen by struggling mindlessly against the cage constricting her. Her lungs demanded action, movement, anything to get away! Aside from a single convulsion, she held it at bay. Roy would not have walked in here without a plan. At least, she could hope that.

* * *

_Author's Note: I felt this story deserved an April Fool's update (even if it was 'Fair Trade' that began on this date.) The only part of this chapter that needed to be written was Roy's time on the bench; the rest has been sitting here since 2008 (including the rest of this author's note). I suppose I should have posted it before some of the more recent manga chapters came out, but ah well…better late than never!_

I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor, and I don't like it one bit. ~ Shel Silverstein

_I do not know of any specific form of torture that is similar to the bizarre contraption I've described here, but it is based on the concept of strangulation by putting too much pressure on the chest (like a snake that kills its prey by constriction). If you can't move your diaphragm, you can't breathe. The heart would also be in danger here, but I chose to ignore that. I have no idea how long someone could survive such treatment, nor what the side-effects of Roy's intervention would be. I'm a little concerned that he got a very fine dust of graphite in her lungs when he transmuted the carbon dioxide into oxygen, but hopefully that will be no worse than a little second hand smoke. Mainly I wanted to include the *terribly* cliché giant-lever-of-death, though in this case, the pulleys aren't lowering the victim into a vat of boiling acid._


End file.
